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{shortcode-097912bcb5705790fe60eafaa545d1c65c60540e}o you know Fez? Fez S. Zafar ’24, that is? Odds are, you do. If you didn’t go to his birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (almost 800 people RSVP’d), you might’ve participated in his class-wide game of Assassin last spring. And if you didn’t get Fez’d into either of those events, you might recognize him as our Class Marshal. How else would you get voted the Most Popular in the senior class?
When asked if he is, in fact, the most popular boy in the senior class, the coolest cat, the head honcho, Fez states diplomatically, like a true Iowan, “I would not say that.”
The truth is, Fez just loves people. In particular, he loves interesting people. He also loves talking. But most of all, Fez loves talking to interesting people. He moves through the world trying to maximize his run-ins with people he wants to talk to.
We sit on the leather couches in the Dunster lobby. Clearly, these are Fez’s stomping grounds. They know him around here. Fez has Fez’d me personally multiple times from this very couch, trying to get me to vote for him, or buy a ticket to Dunster formal, or fill out the senior matchmaking survey. I don’t keep a solid tally but as we’re chatting there for over two hours, countless undergraduates who pass by enthusiastically greet Fez with various combinations of finger guns, and gasps of excitement. Several people loudly address him as “legend.” Fez is just as excited to see them as they are to see him. What can he say? He’s a man of the people.
With this much social reach, it’s not uncommon for the reputation to supersede the man himself. But Fez is just like us. He gets stressed about uncertainty. He has a creative outlet (filmmaking). He’s into startup culture. He’s a Virgo.
Just kidding. Fez is not just like us. He’s not just more popular — he’s built different. He limits his morning phone time in bed to about 10 minutes. How could he dilly-dally? The day awaits. He skips breakfast unless he’s really hungry, in which case he’ll have a pastry and water. No coffee, no tea. Pure Fezergy. After class, it’s back to Dunster for lunchtime, which is obviously fun. But lunch is only a taste of what’s to come.
“Dinner time is its own animal,” Fez tells me, with a glint in his eye. “That’s when I’m most in my element.” Who could argue with that level of self-assurance? Especially with the extra hour of dinner afforded at Dunster for athletes, he’s on his home turf, locked and loaded, ready to befriend the entire softball team.
Fez seems to love athletes almost as much as he loves interesting people. He’s taken to announcing sports games that he knows we’re guaranteed to win. “You have to enunciate everything really well,” Fez counsels. “I’ve always said if someone’s from Iceland, I want them to feel like they’re in Reykjavik when they’re hearing their name said over the speaker.”
See, Fez isn’t a regular NARP. He’s a cool NARP. And the night is still young. Because what happens after dinner?
“Then it’s brain break. You see how I tell people, ‘Come to brain break?’ You see that? Yeah, brain break is where it’s at,” Fez declares. “What bothers me is I come to brain break nowadays, too many people are doing work. There’s not enough discussion or socializing happening. I think it represents the deterioration of American culture. Too many people doing work, and not talking at brain break.”
“I like your scarf!” Fez bellows at the top of his lungs at a fellow Dunsterite as they walk by. “Sometimes you yell a little bit, Fez,” I tell him. “YEAH!” He says. “PEOPLE TELL ME I YELL A LOT.”
Brain break is over. It’s 10 p.m. What next? “Homework begins,” Fez sighs. “A lot of the concentrated, diligent work is happening late at night, because that’s when everyone’s asleep, so there’s no distractions. There’s no one to talk to. Everyone has gone.” He sounds forlorn.
On nights when there’s no brain break, Fez has to resort to other outlets to drain his nuclear social battery. You’d reckon that the most popular boy in school might be something of a party animal. But Fez parties to the beat of his own drum.
“I think everyone is always trying to get into some party or get into some social group. I’ve been more of the mindset of, why not host your own party or start your own social group?” Fez is not anti-final club, but he’s not impressed by them either. He’d rather everyone at the party just all get lunch instead.
Importantly, Fez is not a drinker. “Not one sip.” For two reasons. First: he’s Muslim. Second: he likes control and he doesn’t need the crutch. “Sometimes I go to parties where everyone’s drinking, and I feel like I’m the one having the most fun there,” he says.
Eventually, it’s time for bed. According to Fez, he sleeps “just the right amount.” Usually, this is around 6 hours, except on special occasions. These occasions are special for the rest of us because then there is so much more Fez to go around.
“On Thursday, I got like, eight hours, which was more than I’m used to. So then I pulled up to my seminar. And you know how I already talk a lot? Well, I would not stop talking the entire seminar. I was like, this is heinous,” Fez yells. “I need to shut up. But I wouldn’t! I just kept going, the whole time.”
You might be wondering at this point — does Fez lean into the bit? Is Fez Fezzing himself (and all of us) to Fez harder than we’ve ever Fez’d before? “I’ve probably leaned into it before,” he says with a smirk. “Recently I started telling people, ‘guys, I’m going to launch a perfume.’” Fez, by Fez Zafar.
Ultimately, Fez smells like success. You can see it in his walk. Fez thinks it’s amazing that champions (Division I athletes) walk among us. I think it’s amazing that Fez walks among us. And if Fez was going to walk up to the plate to bat with the rest of his beloved softball team, his walk-up song would be “Big Poppa,” by the Notorious B.I.G. Obviously. Get Fez’d.
— Associate Magazine Editor Maya M. F. Wilson can be reached at maya.wilson@thecrimson.com.
